Don't Give a Peep

This has been a particularly unproductive week, and for that I can blame Television all over again. I've stumbled upon this funny British sitcom and have been hooked for a while now. I've been mostly out of the TV game for the last few years, and generally watch only on recommendation. After watching the first few episodes, I found myself wondering how no one ever told me about Peep Show, given that it's five seasons old. Then again, accidental discoveries are the most memorable ones, so whenever I hear people talk about this show I can feel quietly smug about my nose for good TV programming.

Peep Show gets its name from the fact that the two main characters' lives are seen mostly from their own points of view, as though the camera were held in their hand all along. We get to hear their thoughts when the scene shifts to their individual POV. The premise is fairly simple; it follows the misadventures of two loser roommates, Mark and Jeremy (played by comedic duo David Mitchell and Robert Webb respectively), in their mostly futile attempts toward gaining social acceptance and wooing the women in their lives. They're essentially two ordinary blokes to whom weird things happen. Suitably, they are a study in contrast. Imagine George Constanza as a history nerd with even lower levels of self-esteem, and Joey Tribbiani as a desperate slacker with a nasty streak, and you'll get an idea...ah forget it. No point in trying to form analogies with other sitcoms, just watch and find out. They're well supported by a stellar set of characters. Among them, Sophie, co-worker and the object of Mark's confused affections; Super Hans, Jeremy's band-mate and fellow crack-addict; Johnson, Mark's smooth-talking boss; and Nancy, the American girl briefly married to Jeremy for visa purposes.

One thing I've always liked about British sitcoms - and Peep Show is no exception in this regard - is that even when they're flinging the most obvious jokes or predictable plot developments in your face, they manage to make you laugh out loud all the same. That comes with ace dialogue delivery and acting backed up by a razor-sharp script. Consider the scene in the office where Mark has managed to find the password to Sophie's email account. He's surfing through her inbox, and you know what's going to happen next; Sophie appears and catches him in the act. But it's all executed so brilliantly, you can't help but guffaw. And, rather than providing the characters with catchphrases, the creators seem to have hit upon an endless supply of memorable oneliners.

Where Peep Show really sets itself apart is the boldly obnoxious nature of its content - it relies on what many reviewers like to call the "cringe factor". It's all very bleak and cynical, and the fact that the main characters often come across as first-class jerks with little scope for self-betterment means it won't appeal to everybody. It still manages to be very realistic; I mean, you find yourself empathising with their problems but can't approve or sympathise with their actions. The situational humour revolves mostly around sex, drugs, liberal use of profanities, misanthropy, anger management and still more sex, pushing it firmly into 'adult' territory. That has probably denied it airtime on mainstream television, though I'm guessing it might have become a sensation in Britain by now (it is apparently selling very well on DVD). While it's true that shows like South Park and Family Guy are also characterised by offensive humour, they make full use of the cartoon medium to realise their ends. Peep Show, on the other hand, does not deal in escapism or shock value. It has a natural feel to it, switching scenes effortlessly back and forth, and ends up being (perversely) believable.

It's a pity each season is just six episodes long; every episode leaves me asking for more. Catch it online if you can, for it'll save you the trouble of having to look far and wide for the DVDs. I know I'll be buying them eventually.

Current Music: Alice Cooper - No More Mr.Nice Guy

The BIOTE Diaries: Down in a Dump

It's a really good thing this apartment complex has a 24-hour gym on the premises. It provides a reassuring and necessary constant to the daily grind, but being just about the only place for miles which stays open later then 10 P.M, there was never much of a choice when it came to looking for things to do here. The other night, after a long spell of steady rain, I was making my way to the gym as usual after work when I was greeted by a weird, almost surreal sight. I walked along the extremely narrow footpath, flanked by a garden on either side, and noticed that the thousands of resident snails had crawled out onto the path, leaving me precious little space to actually walk to the gym entrance. I had move forth on tiptoe to avoid stepping on them, and felt as if I was in Commander Keen, that old 2-D PC game in which the hero dodges poison slugs by jumping or using a pogo stick. It was a funny feeling, coming as it did in the middle of one of the more sordid concrete wastelands of suburban California.

Life indoors has been less memorable lately. It sucks having to remain in office till late, given that we've already missed a few of the pizza parties and bingo nights that keep happening in the building. While I've grown used to spending time by myself and even being cocooned if necessary, I'd at least like to be able to meet some people here. The University often kept me equally busy, but there were still places to go whenever you wanted to step out, back then. I'm getting a little fatigued with all this talk of H1-B visa processing, amazing job offers which some lucky souls have managed to snap up, requisite skill-sets on resumes, and engineers harbouring nothing but wet dreams of six-figure salaries in this country. Quite often, it's the little things that grate on your mind and it's all you can to do to laugh them off. The visa applications have been delegated to the India office, and the communication levels from their end have been insufficient (to put it mildly), resulting in a string of laughably pointless mails to and fro. Anyway, I'm trying to channel all this annoyance into planning my escape from this industry. Why is it that the monetary rewards of career paths seem to be in inverse proportion to how mentally stimulating they actually are?

Current Music: Avial - Nada Nada

The BIOTE Diaries: Beating the Bookstore

You know it's the start of a new semester at the University of Texas at Austin when you hear a certain clamour on Guadalupe St., known locally as The Drag. Students throng the stores on the Drag near campus, hastily stocking up for the new term, which means having to buy a whole new set of books. Make no mistake, books are expensive here, and that goes double for textbooks. Naturally, a bunch of places have sprung up where you can get your stuff secondhand or at a reasonable discount, among them a place called Beat the Bookstore. But "Beat the Bookstore" is no longer just the name of a store, it is now an unofficial motto of UT students, a philosophy. And this philosophy has trickled down to the issue of shopping at general bookstores, the ones which cater to the needs of Literature and History majors (among others), and book-browsers like me. But the situation only became clear to me during my final week as a resident of Austin, Texas. It felt like the end of an era in more ways than one.

On a Tuesday that week, around the same time I came to hear of Premier Bookshop's impending closure - and I like to believe this was more than mere coincidence - I was walking down the Drag when I saw the sign, a sign that the economic crisis was having its effect right in front of my eyes; the University had decided its main bookstore was dispensable, and would be closing it down soon. I stood in front of Intellectual Property, the place where I had spent many a leisurely hour over the past couple of years, and slowly read the announcement that they were discounting their entire stock by a sizable amount, before closing for good in a month's time. I duly rushed in to pick up one last title from there. On the Road (Jack Kerouac), which had in fact been recommended to me years ago, was unavailable, so I settled for Crash by J.G Ballard, at a reasonable 40 percent off.

To those Bangaloreans who swear by smaller places like Premier, Blossom, Bookworm and their ilk, the picture of IP above probably suggests that it was just another big corporate establishment with all the trappings, but devoid of any soul. The reality was way different; compared to glitzy monstrosities such as Borders or Barnes and Noble, IP was positively quaint. It combined the proprietary helpfulness of Premier with the immaculate arrangement of Sankar's, and the interiors were simple yet inviting. If you look closely at the pic, you'll notice a narrow long blackboard above the shelves running the length of the walls; this was typically decorated with quotations from literary figures, inscribed in chalk. Best of all, it was a peaceful place staffed by ever-smiling book enthusiasts who didn't mind if you hung around and flipped pages indefinitely. They had an excellent catalog, and although their books were first-hand and therefore priced accordingly, discounts were common. They featured a neat bestsellers' section which was regularly discounted by 30 percent; it got me acquainted with a range of titles which often left me bookshelf-dreaming, if nothing else.

Why did they close down? After all, every big University needs a decent bookstore, and this was located in a prime area teeming with potential clients. A friend of mine came up with an interesting theory, one which Malcolm Gladwell might have approved of. He observed that, with the door being perpetually open and the windows wide and big, thus allowing the sunlight to come in, as a casual browser or potential customer you had a constant view of the crowded outside world; you were thus compelled to leave sooner than you normally would. The interior of a bookstore should be designed to keep the customer's attention focused solely on the books, and that means paying more attention to little visual details. The same open-view-of-the-street was true of Premier as well, but that place had a fiercely loyal clientele which kept it on life support for about two years after the end of the road had been reached; perhaps IP's customer base was more fickle. As I made my final purchase, I had a quick chat with Dara, one of the staff whom I'd come to know over my regular visits to the store. She had some interesting insights to offer on the predicament of the friendly neighbourhood bookstore:

"You see, bookstores like ours operate on very small margins. We compete with the bigger chains as well as the downright secondhand places, and in our case we even had to supplement the income generated from books by including a Computer Products section. In hindsight that was a bad idea, because you already have a computer store on campus which fulfills the needs of the very customers we were hoping to attract. Perhaps we could have worked on the interiors and the arrangement a little, like having a properly organised History section to target specific UT majors. Our location also worked against us, there's no parking for miles in this crowded campus area. Of course college kids mostly don't read as much as they used to...that was pretty evident from the declining number of sit-in-readers we had over the last year. But I would say the biggest threat to our business is the emergence of the online bookstore. Now that people are getting everything they need cheap at Amazon, why would they bother with a place like this?"

There was a sense of calm acceptance in her voice, which betrayed only the slightest hint of regret, much like the matter-of-factness displayed by owner Shanbag upon his decision to close Premier. When I read this article on IP's closure, I found the last couple of lines (which talk about the opportunity to cash in on the closing discounts offered) particularly interesting:

Just because you couldn't be bothered to support a local bookstore while it was struggling to stay afloat in one of the riskiest pieces of real estate in the city doesn't mean you can't capitalize on its demise. That there is the American way.

More power to the American way, then. Nevertheless, I was happy to be around at the end, for it was consolation for not being able to make one last trip to Premier.

PS: Premier's closing had me going all nostalgic as well; I even commented on the resilience of the store in an earlier post. I'm too tired to write a piece on it here, but I do recommend Ramachandra Guha's tribute in The Hindu.

Current Music: Cut Copy - Hearts on Fire

On Watching the Watchmen

If you're wondering what the deal is with this new superhero movie, and intend on approaching it with caution, my two bits would be: read the book first. Hell, read the book anyway, whether or not you care about the film. Now I'm not trying to play the snob who's out to praise the book to the skies and trash the movie adaptation; I read the comic series a few months ago and thoroughly enjoyed it, but that alone does not make me a comic book connoisseur. (Disclaimer: I sure as hell don't spend my free time playing dungeons-and-dragons. I spend it writing blog posts.) If you've already read the book and liked it, you probably *have* to watch the film for no other reason, just like me.

[For a quick plot summary, read the wikipedia entry].

Watchmen, being commonly seen to represent the "kingship" of the Graphic Novel genre (which is probably justified), was ever a likely candidate to be turned into a film, sooner or later. The fact that it was mentioned in Time Magazine's 100 greatest novels list has only added to the legend. Porting it to the cinematic medium was always going to be a tall order, for it is a veritable African elephant, simply too big a beast to be tamed. While the film does eventually collapse under its own weight, the director Zack Snyder deserves an A+ for his ballsy effort to realise the impossible and keep it propped up. He was faced with two equally ominous options - playing it safe and keeping the fanboys happy by remaining as faithful as possible to Alan Moore's work, or doing a variation on the theme and risk being critically panned. He chose the former, and unfortunately the characters are "bottled up within that frame" as another viewer told me.

The movie clocks in at 165 minutes, and can be tedious to sit through. Like The Matrix, it is possible to get the gist of the plot and be spellbound by the concept if you concentrate hard. If you're expecting an evening of mindless entertainment, be warned; this movie is relatively low on action, and its depth of content it makes The Dark Knight seem like a pleasant little stroll of a tragi-comedy. Synder has really taken it upon himself to put the "Graphic" in this Graphic Novel adaptation; whenever violence surfaces, it often takes the meticulously detailed and brutal form that was apparently a defining feature of 300, but it doesn't seem to work well here. There's also a particularly violent rape scene as well, which was a little hard to stomach.

The best feature of the film, without a doubt, is the portrayal of Rorschach. Jackie Earle Haley does a splendid job of bringing out the vengeful hostility and vulnerability behind the mask of the story's most fascinating character. It's just a pity the movie had already run too long to delve deeper into the details of Rorschach's past. (Incidentally, The Tales of the Black Freighter, which serves as the fictional comic-within-the-comic in the book, was also left out, but will be released separately on DVD, detailing the characters' backstories. Now there's a neat marketing idea.) Also worth talking about is Malin Ackerman's solid performance as Laurie Jupiter a.k.a Silk Spectre II, despite her part in a most ridiculous scene which I've mentioned below. The rest of the cast, particularly Billy Crudup as Dr.Manhattan are less inspiring.

One of the most noticeable aspects of the film is the deliberate injection of accompanying music at various points, an almost blatant admission that its target audience likely consists of neurotic record collectors (yup, guilty as charged!). This can be extremely hit-or-miss; it works in the opening scene, as images from the past are played to Bob Dylan's The Times They are a-Changin', showing that Snyder wasn't too preoccupied with the original to add a few distinctive touches of his own. But Sounds of Silence at the Comedian's funeral and All Along the Watchtower while Rorschach and Nite Owl crash into Antarctica are way out of place. And oh yeah, there's Leonard Cohen's Hallelujah serving as the bizarre background to an ultra-passionate love scene between Laurie and Dan. What's up with that? Unfortunately, what could have been one of the movie's more surreal moments is completely spoiled by the activation of a flamethrower to signify Laurie's orgasm. Downright tasteless and stupid. I don't think I'll ever be able to listen to Hallelujah with the same ear again!

Alan Moore, who distanced himself from the film adaptation, had this to say about his work: "It's a comic book, not a movie. It's been made in a certain way, and designed to be read a certain way: in an armchair, nice and cozy next to a fire, with a steaming cup of coffee." Looking back, that is precisely the reason I enjoyed the book so much. Instead of having to take it all in at one shot, I was able to enjoy it piecemeal, reading one volume of the series at a time. Having sat through this monster of a film, I was, well...filled up, but definitely not satiated.

Current Music: Christy & Emily - Superstition

The Slacker

To be sung to the tune of The Seeker by The Who (see link at the end for the original). This didn't come out as well as my previous attempt at a spoof, but it's a bit more autobiographical.

[Dedicated to anyone who has happily acquired the jobless, wothla, vetti, or vella tag]

I've slept through my past,
Don't bleed for my future,
I just live for this moment,
But they all think I'm a loser

Chorus:
They call me The Slacker,
I've been drifting low and high
I won't care a hoot what I'm after,
Till the day I die.

I asked Richie Linklater,
I asked my teachers
I asked Dude Lebowski,
But he couldn't help me either

[Repeat Chorus]

People tend to bug me,
'Cause I got no plans
As they ransack my dreams they make me wanna scream,
Focusing on my space,
Need my peace of mind
I'm a Slacker, I'm a really clueless man.

I won't care a hoot what I'm after,
Till the day I die.

I learned how to curb my useless anger,
Yeah, but look at my face, see me fake a smile
I'm happy when life's good, and when it's bad I'm mine
I've got an MS Degree, but I don't know how or why!

They're looking for me,
They think I'm confused
I try hard to tell them,
But they keep telling me what to do!

[Repeat chorus]

Current Music: The Who - The Seeker

The BIOTE Diaries: Chilli Chicken in a One Horse Town

It's been just over a couple of weeks in my latest posting at Sacramento, CA. The moving in and adjustment to the new work routine have happened so fast that I've scarcely had the time to drink it all in, but I have formed a couple of initial impressions to put down all the same.

First up, the much vaunted California weather appears to be one big myth. This place is pretty enough, if not strikingly so, but with all the rain, cold and gloom I've hardly had a chance to step outside and look around when done for the day. Anyone stuck on the east coast or the midwest would probably argue that this place is heaven by comparison, but having been told that things are more costly in CA because you're "paying for the weather" it feels a bit of a let down. I have much to take in so I hope things will improve.

As for the area I live in, it's culturally dead. The apartment is fine, but the surroundings give me the distinct feeling of how things would be if I lived in Electronics city, or Sarjapur (Bangalore readers will relate to this) - nothing but office buildings and lawns, big empty streets with intermittent zooming traffic, and a few convenience stores here and there. No bookshops, no music stores, no cafes which stay open late, and no movie theaters (where will I catch the opening of Watchmen in a week's time?). It's just as well I have to spend twelve hours a day in the office, I'd have a hard time figuring out what to do here otherwise. I had a lot I took for granted back at the University, and though things are too rushed for me to pine for the comforts of my previous location, the thought of being stuck in this halli for the next few months makes me want to make a trip to Austin sooner than I'd planned. Or at any rate, get my license done, rent a car and make a trip somewhere.

I recall the frantic packing I went through in Austin, neurotically assembling my collection of books and audio cassettes together (even making a list of the ones I left with my friends back there), trying to stuff the last two years of my life in a couple of suitcases. Maybe I should be concerned about my continued obsession with my cassette collection and borrowed books, things I should have outgrown by now. But much as I like to think that almost everything is dispensable, it turns out that these kinds of tangibles - stuff you've put a lot of effort into acquiring - eventually breed a sort of possessiveness that's terminal. Too many happy memories, I guess.

The apartment's nice and big. I'm rooming with four others, and while we've got along so far I'm reserving my judgment. New roommates always provide an interesting study in observation, as well as apprehension. It probably stems from what Tim May describes very well in his book, Mayhem:

I think that the practice of putting two fully developed males, friends or not, in a room together for several months is a fraction unnatural. Your most intimate conversations with loved ones, your private habits, private noises, private scratches are all shared with someone who is sleeping six inches away.

He might have added the part about disagreements arising from the way plates are dumped in the sink, the bits of hair spread across the shower, and the way the wastebin overflows onto the nearby carpet. Rooming with someone of unknown habits can either force you to re-evaluate your sense of aesthetics, or make you realise you're not the cleanliness freak you imagined yourself to be. The next few weeks will be pretty revealing.

One of my roomies made a weekend trip to San Jose to attend a family event. He returned with several dabbas of ultra-fiery food, leftovers from the function. Among the takeaways was some chilli chicken which proved to be the ultimate tearjerker, and has since shaken my world in general and my digestive system in particular. It reminded me, in the most masochistic way, of the last time I had eaten something this spicy; back in July 2005, I accompanied Shom and another friend to RRR, the Andhra restaurant in Bangalore. We were daft enough to go along with the waiter's recommendation, a chicken dish which was spicy on the outside - no surprise there - but proved to be dynamite on the inside; it was liberally stuffed with chilli seeds. The subsequent assault on my taste-buds was like nothing I had ever felt before, or three years after; who would've thought I'd be compelled to revisit that memory in my current situation? Not quite deja vu, but strange all the same. And thus I shall conclude this entry with a piece of advice to all epicureans back home: never trust a waiter at an Andhra restaurant.

PS: Although not originally intended, the title of this post could be thought of as a tribute to a certain book by Pankaj Mishra. Highly recommended for an insight into small town India.

Current Music: Al Pitrelli - Birdland

The B.I.O.T.E Diaries: Going to California

The recent past has seen a fair amount of change. Well, it all just had to be so. December was the time I would earn my degree, and all my thoughts would need to be directed more at the short-term (what is my next move, and what do I plan to do with my life?) and less at the immediate term (who am I going to stooge a dinner off tonight?). After a billion job applications, ideas about ditching this US business, and thoughts about staying in school, I've moved to California to start a job of some sort. It's not what I would ideally like to be doing, but such is the state of the economy that finding employment anywhere is as about as easy as locating a creek in the Kalahari, and certainly as essential for a graduating student.

There was minor heartbreak along the way. In the midst of these trying times I actually managed to secure a job in Bangalore; but it wasn't just any job, it was a dream job, a job far removed from whatever I'd done academically till now, unexpected and out of the blue. For a variety of reasons, mostly dictated by monetary concerns and cold logic, I ended up turning it down. As for how I felt about the whole deal, it was something like this; imagine the girl of your dreams, the special someone you let slip by an age ago, is suddenly back in your life. You're stuck in a listless marriage and would love a clean break. But something is holding you back, and you're unable to take the brave decision and execute it whole-heartedly. And so, you let go.

The consolation here is, career choices are not as complicated as relationships, so I'm carrying on in the hope that the dream might yet be realised somewhere down the line. For the time being, I continue to rack my brains and try to find out the best use of my Master's Degree. In a sense, the Indian IT and Tech sector fallout as a result of the recession almost seems like a good thing, when I think of people like myself back home. It might encourage those kinds, the ones with some creative instincts but no particular academic fixations, to look at other avenues instead of putting all their cerebral eggs into the Technical basket. Then again maybe not, 2001 happened and very few at the time seemed inclined to skip the beaten track. But again, the bucking has to start somewhere right? Maybe when I have enough money..

Another good thing about the recession is that it's given everyone out here a common topic for discussion. You can sympathise with someone who's lost his job, empathise with someone who's looking for one, laugh collectively when someone quotes the latest economy-joke, and relate depressing tales of layoffs and paycuts when you're surrounded by boring company and don't have a stiff drink to come to your rescue. The economy has been pretty hard on students, too. I was on the threshold of continuing my stay in Austin as a PhD student, and when I bid adieu I also handed over a coveted Teaching Assistant position to a friend, which for him was solid gold; and there were hundreds of others waiting to pounce on the same. It's become near-impossible to find work on campus of late.

But that was Austin. I wonder what lies ahead in this new place. Apart from Arnold Schwarenegger and the Kings, Sacramento doesn't seem to be an especially renowned city. My next few entries will feature ramblings from the Californian capital, and my experiences adapting to this new environment.

In case you're wondering about the acronym in the title, that's Blame It On The Economy.

Current Music: Delhi 6 - Arziyan